


Ten Months

by Unsentimentalf



Category: Blake's 7
Genre: Gen, external narration
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-31
Updated: 2019-10-31
Packaged: 2021-01-15 14:33:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,852
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21254909
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Unsentimentalf/pseuds/Unsentimentalf
Summary: Ten months, somewhere.





	Ten Months

**Author's Note:**

> I fancied writing an entirely external narration, for a change. This is it.

The man is absolutely still. His eyes are dark and focused on the woman at the other end of the room in the low lighting. Between them is a long open space, maybe fifteen metres, with a motley collection of around 20 people lining the walls, watching her, watching him. They mutter, laugh and occasionally catcall.

She hefts the slim knife in her left hand, tosses it into a fast spin and catches it again by the hilt. In the same fluid motion she throws it. The crowd gasp as it hits the wooden wall with a sudden, solid thump and stays there, between the man's outstretched thumb and forefinger. 

The man tenses slightly at the impact but his hand doesn't shift so much as a millimetre from its position splayed against the wall. He is smiling slightly, close lipped, unamused. 

She's older than him, in her forties maybe while he's around thirty. Both of them are dressed in leather that's seem many better days but if she resembles a hunter he's more like some sort of mercenary. The next knife sticks between the knuckles of his fore and middle fingers. The crowd have quietened, watching.

The third goes a fraction low. The man doesn't react but a red trickle starts to run over the back of his hand. That gets the watchers loud again. She waits until there is quiet then throws the fourth, so hard that the wall vibrates with the impact. The blade quivers a little, almost touching the outstretched ring finger.

The crowd noise rises again but then lessens as it starts to thin, leaving through the wider doors behind where the woman had been standing. She comes forward to recover the knives, one by one.

"Not serious." She takes the man's hand, examines the bloody cut to the web between his fingers.

"No." He turns and stands on his toes to recover a small plastic bag pinned to the wall above him with a knife similar to the others. He tips it open onto his bloodstained palm and offers the contents to her. She takes one of the two chips and tucks it away under her belt.

"Drink?" She asks.

"No, thank you."

"Give it a few days and we could do it again."

"They'll want something different," he says. "Riskier, more dramatic."

"We could do that."

"Riskier? I don't think so. The medical facilities in this place are non existent and I'm attached to all my body parts."

"It just has to look riskier," the woman said. "It wouldn't have to be any more dangerous."

"Huh," he says. "Let me know what you come up with and I'll consider it." He puts the second chip into an inside pocket in his jacket and turns away to the door.

The scream is high pitched and brief. Its source is now curled up on the floor, whimpering. Along the long line of metal bunk beds heads appear and rapidly pull back again. The ambient sound, lowered, returns to its earlier level; shouted arguments, snatches of music, banging of metal against the iron bedsteads, general background noise.

Only one face now looks down at the stricken figure below. Unlike the other double decker bunks only the top of this one is laid out for sleeping. The bottom bunk is sealed off from the top to the floor with roughly welded metal sheets. A ripped piece of paper is stuck to the central sheet with a drawing of a lightning bolt coloured in thick black. 

"Never try to get into bed with anyone until you're invited," the occupant of the upper bunk suggests. His left hand rests on the rail, wrapped in a stained rag. "What do you want, Alter, or were you just thieving?"

Alter uncurls and stands up. "That fucking hurt, man!"

"It was fucking meant to. What do you want?"

"Charge." The man sounds sulky. He offers up a small screen.

The man in the bed makes no attempt to take it. "Thirty, or fifty in kind, or bring me something I want."

"Fucking extortion!"

"So go somewhere else."

Alter glares at him, then reaches into his ragged tunic. "Got this."

'This' is metal and wires. It looks as if it's been ripped out of something larger. The man reaches down to take it and turns it over in his hands for a minute or two. "I'll take that as half. What else?"

"Fuck you," Alter says without much vehemence. The small flat package he brings out is wrapped in crumpled and dirty foil. "Two bits."

"Four. You want a full charge, I presume."

"It had better be, or I'll be back."

"You'll get what you paid for. Four bits, and pick it up this time tomorrow."

"Hey, Salvi. What do you do with all the stuff you get?" Alter demands as he carefully breaks off a couple of square centimetres of the dark brown substance and hands it up. "You don't buy drink or fucks or drugs or gear or choc, just more broken crap."

"Fixing that broken crap lets me charge your console," the man addressed as Salvi says. "And keeps my possessions secure. Come back tomorrow and don't touch anything this time."

When Alter has sloped off, Salvi calls over to the next bunk along. "Kris?"

The knife thrower kneels up on the bunk. "Need watching?"

"Keep an eye out, will you? He and his friends might get ideas." He hands over a small piece of the brown substance. "You ought to find a healthier vice. This stuff will kill you in the end."

"I'm counting on it." She puts it carefully under the lump of cloth that passes for a pillow. "Don't stay down there too long. I'm not missing chow again."

He rolls up the thin mattress, places his palm against the metal below and slides it sideways. The gap below is dimly lit and there is just enough room for him to lower himself through the makeshift hatch. He reaches back up to take Alter's console and the machine part from the bed, slides the metal back and vanishes from sight. 

"I've got a proposal for you."

"Yeah?" The red-haired young woman in uniform speaks quietly, her eyes still on the milling horde around the food dispensers. The gun is humming live in her hand.

"There's a one grand chit in my jacket."

She twists a little so that he's in her line of sight. "Where did a perp like you get that sort of money, Sal?"

"Providing services."

"Yeah? Ten months is a lot of time to spend with your legs apart. You don't look that hot to me."

"The trick is to know what people want," Salvi says. "You, for instance, want three thousand credits."

"You said one?"

“One now, two when it's done. You know my reputation, Rais. I pay up."

"What's the job? Cos I don't do unlocked doors or fatal accidents. I like to get to go home at the end of my shift."

"Nothing like that. I'm going to give you a small box. It will fritz the exit scans, but they've been on the blink all day so you'll get waved through, no problem. Go to a public comms point. Call your mother. When she answers, just put the box against the flatscreen. That's all. Talk to her for at least three minutes, then hang up. A word will appear on the screen. Remember it. Once you've got it, chuck the box in a street incinerator, tell me the word and you get the other two grand. That's it. No risk."

"Why ask me?" She's frowning.

"Because you can read and you're smart enough to follow instructions. And you need the money, both parts of it."

"Everyone needs the money. Put the stuff in my pocket," she says. "If the credits check out I'll do your box thing. Does it matter if my mum talks for longer than that? She goes on a bit."

"As long as she likes," Salvi says. "Just look out for the word when you hang up."

He circles away then past her. As he stumbles against her she curses his clumsiness and lifts the gun in threat. Striding out of the food hall, he appears to take no further notice of her or anyone else.

“I’ve no idea why they brought me in here on my own.” The man with the dark brown curls is smiling but his nervousness is obvious. There are twenty people around hm and none of them look welcoming. “Are you in charge here?”

“Yeah,” the older man says. The curly haired man glances round the room. No-one contradicts him.

“In that case I’ve got something for you. It’s in my jacket.”

Neither he nor anyone else moves.

What’s your name? the boss demands.

“Rob.”

“Well, Rob, Show me.”

Rob moves very slowly to pull a long foil rectangle out of his inside pocket. There is a brief mutter around the room.

A woman comes up and takes it, unwraps the foil, scratches a sliver off the surface and puts it on her tongue.

"It’s good, Boss.”

“How did you get that through security?” the boss demands.

“Trade secret. Look, I don’t want any trouble with anyone here. Consider it a friendly gesture.”

The boss glances over at the large slab. “All right. You bunk under Kris. It’s next to Salvi who’s crazy as hell but you leave his stuff alone you’ll be OK.”

Rob looks briefly disorientated until Kris comes to lead him back to the dorm. 

“Sal! You got a new neighbour!”

Salvi, sprawled in his bunk, keeps reading his book.

“Salvi! Don’t be an arse. At least say hello!” Kris insists.

Salvi’s head finally appears over the bunk rail. He eyes Rob without expression. “Name?”

“Rob.”

“How original. Well, Rob. All my stuff’s electrified. Touch it and you’ll regret it.”

“Nice to meet you too,” Rob says. He waves a hand at the welded panels. “What’s all this about, then?”

“I deal with the electrics round here. If you need something recharging, and you can pay, you ask me.”

“Anything?”

Salvi sighs. “Not anything, no, but there isn’t much I can’t handle. If you’ve got something non-standard you’d better let me take a look now, so I can sort out a suitable adaptor before it runs out.”

“You won’t just take it?”

Salvi shakes his head. “Thieves don’t do so well round here.”

“OK. Well, I’ve got something for you to look at then. You got time now, or later?”

“I’ve been kicking my heels for ten months,” Salvi says. “I’ve got nothing at all to wait any longer for. Give it to me now.” He slides over the rail and onto the ground to stand next to Rob and Kris.

Rob unclips a round circlet from his belt and hands it over. He keeps a second one. Both men slide the circles over their wrists.

“Bring us up,” Rob says with a voice more confident than any he’s used since arrival. A shimmer in the air, and they are both gone.


End file.
